


Closer to Shore

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Greg Lestrade, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Background Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Freeform, Developing Relationship, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Injured Sherlock, M/M, Meet-Cute, Omega Mycroft, Omega Verse, Post-Season/Series 04, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, Virgin Mycroft, Wingfic, Wings, mpreg mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:32:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Mycroft had built his life on accumulating power and keeping his family safe. Now, at middle age, with Sherlock settled with John and raising Rosie together, he finds himself adrift.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lmirandas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/gifts).



Mycroft Holmes had made it through more than forty years of life without a mate. There had been some who sought to court him when he was younger, but none of them could hold a candle to his ambitions and the power he desired.

Tonight he stood in his house, preening his auburn wings in the mirror, trying not to think about how empty the place was. He’d tried to tell himself that craving an alpha was just biology, that he was perfectly happy on his own, but in his heart of hearts he knew that wasn’t true. There were times in the small hours of the night when he longed to be folded in someone else's wings, perhaps even with children down the hall. He’d built his nest instead on everything else, and now at middle age it was his alone.

Mycroft sighed and turned away from the mirror, from the look in his own eyes, shuffling his feathers. Clearly, this was not a night to be at home. Adrift. Shaking his head, he texted for a car and grabbed his umbrella. A late meal might be good, somewhere around other people, where the walls wouldn’t echo. Which ruled out the Diogenes, but, there were other places he could go.

Five minutes after getting in the car, Mycroft’s phone rang. He frowned, knowing whatever it was couldn’t be good, but answering it anyway. “Yes, John?”

“Sherlock’s hurt,” there was worry in his tone, but it didn’t sound life-threatening. “We’re at hospital now. Git got in a fight with a suspect and they took a tumble off a roof. Sprained wing from trying to stop his fall and a broken rib. Not sure what else, the doctor is with him now.”

Mycroft pinched his nose. “Thank you for calling me. I’ll be there shortly.” He hung up and gave his driver the new destination. While they were capable of short bursts, their wings wouldn’t sustain them for a long flight. Or a fall off a high roof.

He arrived at the hospital shortly and strode in, Sherlock’s room number already on his mobile. He’d long since made arrangements with every hospital in London and if John hadn’t called him he would have been alerted. With Sherlock Holmes as a sibling one could never be too careful.

John was nursing a cup of tea in the waiting area, unable to sit, ash blonde wings tucked in close. “You want a cuppa?” asked John.

“I’ll get it. I assume the doctors are still with him?”

“Yeah. He’ll be fine,” John didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“I am certain he’ll mend. I won’t be long.” He headed around the corner to get his own tea, only to run, quite literally, into Inspector Lestrade.

Lestrade, by some miracle managed to catch his cup of tea, but the folder under his arm dropped, scattering papers.

“Apologies,” said Mycroft as they both crouched down to collect the loose sheets. This close he could smell the alpha, though he quickly set those thoughts aside.

“It’s fine, I should have been watching where I was going. I’d imagine you’re distracted with everything.”

“Perhaps a bit,” admitted Mycroft, getting the last few pages. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Well the suspect has a broken arm, I was making sure he was under police surveillance.” Lestrade stood and wobbled a bit, silver-streaked wings fluttering as he smiled. “Not quite as young as we were, are we?”

“I’m afraid that’s more true with every hour,” said Mycroft, collecting himself.

“John’s still pacing, yeah? I suppose I’ll go keep him company until you get back.”

“I’m not sure why he’s so anxious,” said Mycroft, straightening his suit. “The injuries aren’t life-threatening.”

“Well sometimes, when an alpha and an omega care for each other very much…” teased Lestrade.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave you to your paperwork.”

“One of these days I’ll get you to crack a smile,” said Lestrade as he walked away.

Mycroft shook his head. He’d known Inspector Lestrade for about a decade now, and oftentimes he still felt as though he didn’t understand the man. Lestrade had been divorced for several years, and in general seemed happier without that weight. Certainly an alpha like Greg Lestrade wouldn’t lack for company if he wanted it, but as far as Mycroft knew there had been very few.

 _Right, tea._ Mycroft reminded himself of his objective and went to fetch his own cup.

By the time he returned John had vanished and Lestrade was finishing his drink as he looked over paperwork. “He just went in, you can probably join them,” said Lestrade without looking up.

“I’ll give them a few moments. I’m sure they’d prefer some time with their bonded before I go charging in and sour the mood.”

Lestrade chuckled. “I can’t see how your presence would ever ‘sour the mood’.”

“Then you know nothing about my brother and me,” grumbled Mycroft, sipping his own cup.

A door opened down the hall and John walked towards them, looking slightly stunned.

Mycroft’s frown deepened. It wasn’t anything awful, as he didn’t look upset, simply surprised and caught unawares. Which, if he had to guess, and he was never wrong…

“Sherlock’s pregnant,” John blurted out as soon as he was in range of Lestrade and Mycroft hearing him.

Lestrade quickly put his work aside and went to him, tugging him over to a seat. “When did that happen?”

“Well,” said Mycroft a bit sarcastically, “when an alpha and an omega love each other…”

Lestrade shot him a glare. John was in too much shock to respond. He scrubbed his hands in his face. “Must have been recent,” he muttered.

Mycroft left them with Lestrade rubbing John’s back, one wing curled around the smaller alpha in comfort. He ignored the way he felt, seeing Lestrade with a wing around another. That was generally best, feelings got in the way more often than not. 

He pushed open Sherlock’s door, steeling himself. The omega had curled up on his side, facing the window, wing carefully bandaged. “Go away Mycroft.”

Mycroft smiled fondly, knowing that it wouldn’t be seen. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

Sherlock sighed “I’m lucky I didn’t harm them,” he muttered.

“You always have had a greater than average share of luck.” Mycroft schooled his features and walked around the bed, taking a seat and studying his brother’s face.

Sherlock opened his eyes. “John called you.”

“Of course he did,” said Mycroft, meeting his gaze.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” said Sherlock, closing his eyes again. Since Sherrinford things had been different between them, in ways neither brother could name.

Instead of answering, Mycroft leaned forward and patted Sherlock’s hand. “I’ll let you rest.” 

Sherlock grumbled and reached out to touch him with his good wing. “Lestrade is still single,” he said.

“And I am sure he will find someone worthy of his attentions,” said Mycroft, heading for the door.

“You can be blind sometimes, Mycroft,” said Sherlock, still grumbling.

Mycroft closed his own eyes and took a breath, stepping out of the room. He glanced down the hall but it seemed that Lestrade had already left.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later Mycroft climbed the stairs to 221B. He passed Hannah, Rosie’s live-in nanny. She was carrying a basket and seemed to be heading for the shops.

“Good afternoon Mister Holmes,” she said, “they’re expecting you, I reckon.”

“Thank you,” he said, passing her an envelope she quickly tucked away. Sherlock and John paid her, of course, he just made sure she got paid a bit more.

She gave him a nod and hurried down the rest of the stairs.

Opening the door, he found the front room as it always had been, hardly bearing the scars of two years earlier, unless one knew where to look. Rosie was playing with blocks on the rug, little white-blonde wings fluttering as she giggled. Sherlock sat next to her while John finished up lunch.

All in all the perfect picture of domestic bliss. Mycroft’s heart lurched a bit, but he knew this sort of life was never in the cards for himself. He carefully kept any jealousy off his face.

“Uncle Mycie!” Rosie got to her feet and threw herself at his legs. 

He caught her and swung her up onto his hip, kissing her forehead. “Good afternoon, Rosie.”

She snuggled up against him, pulling a loose feather that caught her eye.

“Thank you,” said Mycroft.

“Lunch is almost ready,” said John. “Sherlock, can you set the table?”

Sherlock moved a little bit slower than usual, clearly still recovering, as he collected the plates. 

“How are you feeling?” asked Mycroft. Something else he wouldn’t have asked just a few years earlier.

“Better,” said Sherlock, “but I’ll be glad when I can let my wing free again.” 

“Mama booboo,” said Rosie, looking at Sherlock and resting her head on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“That’s right,” said Mycroft, rubbing her back. “But he’ll be better soon.” He frowned as he noticed Sherlock was putting out four adult plates. Before he could ask there was a noise behind him. Mycroft turned, still cradling Rosie, and came face to face with Lestrade.

It was obviously his day off, as he wore jeans and a comfortable green jumper. He had a soft smile as he looked at Mycroft holding Rosie, but then Rosie had raised her head and reached for him.

Mycroft wasn’t sure he wanted to parse what that smile meant. Most likely he was simply happy to see the toddler.

Carefully passing her over, Mycroft adjusted his suit as Lestrade took her. “Inspector, this is a surprise.”

“John invited me over for lunch. We’ve known each other for a decade, you can call me Greg, you know.”

Mycroft nodded, shifting his feathers, turning away. Greg felt far too familiar, even after all this time. Like calling a schoolmate by their Christian name.

“Uncle Mycie?” asked Rosie.

Mycroft turned back to her. “Yes?”

Her face scrunched up a bit as she tried to put together the words. “Uncle Mycie like Uncle Greg?”

Mycroft’s lips parted, but he was saved by Lestrade himself. “Your Uncle Mycroft is a good friend,” he said, bringing Rosie to the table and settling her in her high chair.

Stunned, Mycroft stood in the middle of the room, watching Lestrade speak quietly to Rosie. First, the man hadn’t used the nickname he only allowed Rosie to use. And then, to call him a friend? He didn’t have friends, after all, merely colleagues and people who tolerated his presence.

Sherlock stepped over and put a hand on the small of his back, steering him towards the table while John brought the food out. Mycroft stepped away from his grasp and found himself seated next to Lestrade… Greg? Gregory? It all seemed far too familiar.

Sherlock dumped some food on Mycroft’s plate. Out of habit, Mycroft eyed it suspiciously for a moment before remembering that John had made it, and Sherlock wouldn’t do anything to food Rosie would be eating.

Though Rosie seemed determine to wear half her food anyway.

“This is good, John,” said Lestrade. “Thanks for having me over.”

“Anytime,” said John, catching Rosie’s sippy cup as it dove for the floor.

Mycroft listened as John and Lestrade chatted. Small talk was not something he’d ever been good at. In general it was best to keep to himself regardless. He could see as he ate that John and Sherlock were doing well, that Sherlock was actively trying to take better care of himself and, going by the book tucked next to Sherlock’s chair, was attempting to prepare himself for pregnancy and motherhood. 

Lunch wrapped up a short time later. Rosie already seemed nearly ready to fall asleep in her plate as John picked her up and carried her to the nursery. Lestrade started to collect the dishes but Sherlock waved him off. “It’s fine.”

Mycroft picked up his umbrella. “I should be off. Thank you for lunch, and give Rosie my best.”

Sherlock nodded.

Lestrade looked from one brother to the other. Mycroft wondered at the look Sherlock gave Lestrade. “Right, well, can I walk you out, Mycroft?”

Mycroft bit back a sarcastic remark about being perfectly capable of descending a flight of stairs. “Thank you,” he said instead.

Lestrade gestured for him to go first and Mycroft walked past him, catching a hint of his scent as he did so. Lestrade gave him some space before following him down. “Hey, Mycroft?”

Mycroft turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck, wings tucking in close. _Why was he nervous?_

“I know you can probably have a car here in minutes, but could I take you home? Or back to work?” He added the second part quickly.

Mycroft should say no. There was no logical reason to accept a ride from Lestrade, nor any logical reason for him to offer, since, as he’d pointed out, Mycroft could get a car here in minutes. He opened his mouth to object, but then he noticed Lestrade’s wings drooping as he braced for the rejection. “That would be nice, thank you Inspector,” he said instead.

Lestrade looked surprised, wings perking up as he broke into a grin. “Great. My car’s around the corner.”

There was always something dangerously alluring in Lestrade’s grin. Mycroft had grown fairly good at ignoring it over the years, but today it made his stomach feel a bit funny. However, he’d already agreed to the ride, and clearly Lestrade was excited and delighted, so it would hardly do to back out now.

Lestrade got the passenger door for him and walked around to the driver’s side. As Mycroft got in he couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d accepted a ride from Lestrade. It had been just after Sherrinford, when he was still more shook up than he wanted to admit. The Inspector had, thankfully, filled the quiet with chatter about nothing of consequence, as if not wanting to leave Mycroft alone with his thoughts. When they’d arrived at Mycroft’s home, Lestrade nearly invited himself in, but Mycroft had gently rebuffed him and gone into his home, where the silence bore down on him, almost driving him to his knees.

He’d had a few too many drinks that night, but remembering the family history of addiction he’d managed to not make a habit of it. And, with time, the nightmare had faded, locked as best he could behind high walls, though the memories still escaped now and again.

Blinking back to the present, Mycroft realized he’d been asked a question. “Apologies,” he said. “What was that?”

“I asked where we were going.” Lestrade flashed him that smile again. Mycroft mentally tried to extinguish the tiny candle of hope that lit in his heart. Lestrade was a professional acquaintance, and Mycroft was not the sort of omega to throw himself at any alpha that gave him the time of day.

“My home is fine,” said Mycroft. “I can work from there the rest of the day.” 

“Back to work, then?” Lestrade sounded slightly disappointed, but was clearly trying to cover it up.

Perhaps he should throw caution to the wind. What harm would there be in having Lestrade over? “Well, there is nothing entirely pressing,” admitted Mycroft. He gave Lestrade directions as they pulled into busy London traffic. 

“You should take some time for yourself too,” Lestrade said once they’d finished most of the journey and turned down a nearly hidden, tree-lined street.

“I’m afraid my job doesn’t always have predictable hours,” said Mycroft. He gestured at a house with a high fence, set back from the street. “That one.” He pressed a few buttons on his mobile to open the gate.

Lestrade chuckled. “I should have guessed yours was the one that looked most like a fortress.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes as Lestrade came to a stop. Lestrade bit his lip, uncertain. Mycroft took a breath “Would you like to come in, Inspector?”

“Greg,” he said, smiling brilliantly once again. “And yeah, I’d love to, thanks.”


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft could scarce believe he was doing this, letting anyone, and most especially this person, into his home. He’d had a few diplomatic events in the past, but this was something different and very much foreign. Mycroft Holmes didn’t simply have a friend over. Mycroft didn’t have _friends_. But apparently he did, in Lestrade. Taking a breath, he punched numbers into the security pad and opened the front door, leading Lestrade inside.

He tried to ignore the way the Inspector looked around, taking the place. It was perhaps a bit ostentatious, but that was better than empty walls and echoing rooms. “Would you perhaps like to watch a film?” asked Mycroft.

“Sure,” Lestrade brought his attention back to Mycroft.

“This way.” Mycroft led him into the small room he’d set up for the purpose. A number of movie reels sat on a shelf, carefully cataloged and organized. Lestrade looked around as if trying to divine something about Mycroft from the setting. Mycroft tried to ignore the curiosity and went to the reels to figure out which one would be best for his visitor. Nodding to himself, he picked one and put the first reel on.

“This is nice. I wouldn’t have taken you for a cinema buff.” Lestrade got himself comfortable in a chair.

“It passes the hours,” said Mycroft, close to the truth. “Would you like some tea?”

“If you’re making some.”

“I’ll start the film, I’ve seen it plenty of times.” Mycroft pushed a button and the machine whirred to life. He turned for the kitchen to put the kettle on and ran a hand through his hair. What did he have to be anxious about? It was just a film and tea. Something any normal person would do with their friends.

He quickly fixed two cups and brought them to the room. Lestrade was laughing at something in the scene and Mycroft froze at the sight. He looked so relaxed and happy Mycroft was almost envious.Then he turned that smile on Mycroft and he nearly dropped the tea.

“You alright?” asked Lestrade, smile slipping.

“Oh yes, fine. Enjoying the film?”

“Yeah, I think I saw this sometime when I was a kid.” He accepted the mug and saucer from Mycroft. Mycroft put down his own tea on a side table and removed his suit coat with only a bit of hesitation. He reminded himself that he was in his own damn house and he was supposed to be relaxing. Mycroft could feel Lestrade looking him over, but when he glanced back Lestrade’s eyes were on the movie.

Mycroft ruffled his feathers a bit and settled nearby Lestrade, leaving them some space.

Lestrade sipped his tea and asked about one of the actors in the movie. Mycroft answered his questions, watching Lestrade more than the film. In the dim light, Lestrade carried the easy confidence most alphas had, but not in an aggrandizing way. He didn’t need to prove himself to anyone and that made him all the more attractive.

Mycroft closed his eyes, trying to steer his thoughts anywhere else. What was that problem with Iceland? Perhaps he could work on that. Instead he started drifting off, his mind preferring to imagine what spending more time with Lestrade would be like.

“Mycroft?” Lestrade’s voice interrupted his thoughts. That deep, slightly gravelly voice. 

Pushing those thoughts aside again, Mycroft sat up straight, opening his eyes.”Yes?”

“Would you ever consider going out to a movie with me? Maybe dinner?” Lestrade looked at him, his dark brown eyes sincere.

Mycroft stared at him, for perhaps a moment longer than he should have because once again Lestrade’s wings started to droop. It seemed that Lestrade could make him do almost anything if he looked sufficiently sad. Like a lost puppy trying to get you to take him home. Which, apparently, wasn’t too far from the truth.

“I’d like that,” said Mycroft, surprised at his own answer.

“Really?” asked Lestrade. “Because, well, I know you’re miles out of my league, but I’d like to spend time with you.”

The film reel picked that moment to run out, flapping annoyingly as it spun. Mycroft blindly reached out to shut it off. “Why?” he asked.

“Because you’re brilliant and handsome and you’ve got a good heart under all that. Why wouldn't I want to spend time with you?” Lestrade’s wing stretched out and he lightly brushed Mycroft’s cheek.

Mycroft licked his lips but didn’t pull away from the touch. “Because I’m a middle-aged omega with an erratic schedule and little patience or understanding of normal people.”

“Yeah I’m aware, after all, I’ve known you almost a decade,” Lestrade smiled gently at him.

“Le... Gregory… there’s a difference between knowing me semi-professionally and dating me.” He wanted to, after all he’d already agreed, but what if this was all a mistake?

Greg smiled broader. “That’s the first time you’ve used my name. Thank you.” He covered Mycroft’s hand with his own. “And I do know at least a bit about how you work, Mycroft. Do you want to finish the film?”

“I...I’ve never dated anyone,” admitted Mycroft, blushing slightly.

“That’s alright,” said Greg. “I can lead this dance.”

Mycroft looked at him, studying his face, and slowly nodded. “Very well,” he said, voice soft. He’d never hear the end of it Sherlock found out, let alone Mummy.

Greg squeezed his hand. “Let’s finish watching this film. Nobody here but us, just spending time together.” He got up to switch the reels. “Good thing I worked in a cinema for a summer.”

Mycroft knew that, but it was different to hear it from Greg directly. He knew most of the details of Greg’s life. He’d told himself it was for professional reasons, after all, he was spending a lot of time with Sherlock, but the truth was he’d wanted to know for himself too. As if a list of dates and locations and records could somehow provide him with the full picture of a man. 

Greg got the film going and sat down again, taking Mycroft’s hand. With a little hesitation, Mycroft scooted over, tucking his wing in so he could be closer. Greg kept his hand, letting his wing curve around Mycroft. It was intimate, but clearly Greg was giving him room. Mycroft let out a breath and relaxed, breathing in Greg’s scent, and tried to focus on the film. Without entirely intending too he leaned against Greg. Smiling, Greg let go of his hand and put an arm over his shoulders settling him closer still.

This was nice, comfortable. Greg was warm and his wing gently brushed Mycroft’s arm, jostling when Greg laughed. Greg smelled like coffee and the cigarette he’d snuck before lunch. Mycroft wondered if that had been because of him, if Greg had nervously smoked, because he was planning on asking Mycroft out. It had a been long time since he’d been the center of anyone’s interest; he had to admit he was intrigued, at least.

And perhaps more. He had to admit that flicker of hope he’d felt earlier was still there. Of course Lestrade was a handsome man, and kind to Sherlock in a way most weren’t. But Sherlock had John now, and Rosie and soon one more. He didn’t need Mycroft the way he once had. He’d never admit it, but Mycroft was rather proud of how far his brother had come.

Mycroft smiled softly in the dark. Yes, perhaps this might not be so bad after all.

Greg dropped his head and nuzzled his hair. “Made you smile.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Watch the film.”

“If you insist.” Greg held him a little tighter and turned his attention back to the screen.


	4. Chapter 4

Greg had gone home after the film, saying his goodbyes while holding Mycroft’s hand. It had felt like a natural place for the day to end, though Mycroft had certainly considered asking him to stay longer.

A few days later there was a text from Greg. _Free tonight?_

Mycroft didn’t even bother looking at his schedule. _Yes._

_Pick you up at 7:30_

_I’ll be ready._ Mycroft smiled and put the phone down. 

The rest of the workday felt longer than usual, but Mycroft got through it. Getting home, he stood in his closet, turning in circles, trying to figure out what to wear.

_Wear the buttondown with the blue pinstripes, and grey slacks ___

__The message was from Anthea and of course, she’d known he was standing in his closet feeling like a five-year-old trying to pick out an outfit._ _

__With only a little bit grumbling he pulled out the suggested items and quickly dressed, deciding to forgo a blazer and tie. This was a date, after all, not dinner with the Queen._ _

__He’d be less nervous if it was the Queen._ _

__By 7:25 he was pacing in his living room, stretching his wings, resisting the urge to preen. After all, Greg had seen and talked to him many times. The only difference now was that they were going to dinner and he couldn’t try and convince himself this was only about business._ _

__The doorbell rang at 7:27. Greg was nervous too. Taking a break, Mycroft folded his wings again and went to the door. “Good evening,” he said, picking up his umbrella._ _

__“Hey,” smiled Greg. “You look nice. I mean, you always look nice. But... Er...” Greg rubbed the back of his neck._ _

__“Thank you,” said Mycroft, rescuing him from further stumbling over himself. He stepped outside and Greg squeezed his hand as they walked towards the car. Greg was also wearing a button-down shirt, his slightly ill-fitting. He’d gained a bit of weight recently, not that Mycroft minded._ _

__“Hope you like the place we’re going for dinner,” said Greg, getting Mycroft’s door for him._ _

__“I’m sure it’ll be delightful.” Mycroft had purposely not looked to see where Greg had made reservations._ _

__Greg walked around to his own side and carefully backed out of Mycroft’s drive. The radio softly played a classic rock station. Mycroft watched Greg, seeing he was a careful driver. Greg murmured along with the music under his breath, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel at lights. Mycroft found his heart aching slightly and was fairly certain this was what love felt like. It wasn’t simply a physical desire for the alpha, though there was that too, but it was a delight in seeing him happy and comfortable._ _

__Mycroft examined his feelings. He’d noticed Greg for a long time, of course, had told himself that it was merely in the interest of keeping Sherlock safe. But even at the time he’d know that that wasn’t entirely the case. Mycroft was excellent at lying to many people, but he’d never been very good at doing the same thing with himself._ _

__Greg glanced over at him and rest a hand on his knee. “Alright?” he asked._ _

__“Perfect,” answered Mycroft._ _

__Greg’s smile was, as always, brilliant, but the light changed and he removed his hand to change gears, looking back at the road. Mycroft couldn’t help a soft smile of his own, fidgeting with his umbrella._ _

__A few minutes later, Greg parked and Mycroft let himself out. “It’s not far,” said Greg, walking by his side. Mycroft had the thought that he could very much get used to Greg there. The city smelled like oncoming rain, sidewalks busy, light and laughter coming from places as they passed._ _

__“Here we are,” said Greg, getting the door._ _

__The restaurant bordered on tiny. Greg was greeted with familiarity and they were quickly led to a table and left with menus and two glasses of wine. Mycroft tucked his wings a little closer, mindful of the small space._ _

__“Yeah, I know it’s small. But the food here is fantastic,” said Greg, sipping his wine and looking over the menu. There were only two other occupied tables, but the place didn’t feel empty. Mycroft looked over the menu, asking Greg a few questions before making up his mind._ _

__Once they’d ordered, Greg reached over and took Mycroft’s hand. “Okay?”_ _

__Mycroft nodded. “I like when you touch me.”_ _

__Something heated crossed Greg’s face for a moment, swiftly gone. Mycroft bit his lip, guessing where Greg’s thoughts had gone. He quickly asked Greg about his day and the Inspector started telling about his current case, idly toying with Mycroft’s fingers as he talked._ _

__The conversation lasted until the food arrived. The waiter topped off their wine and they slipped into a comfortable silence. Under the table Greg’s foot rested against Mycroft’s as if he couldn’t quite stop touching him._ _

__About midway through the meal the quiet was disturbed by the vibration of a cell phone. Mycroft started to reach for his pocket only to realize it was Greg that had received the message. “There’s been a break in the case,” he said, already starting to stand. “I need to go.”_ _

__“Oh, of course,” said Mycroft, hiding his disappointment. After all, he could hardly complain about someone else's erratic schedule._ _

__Greg smiled. “Please, stay and finish, I’ll make sure the meal is covered.”_ _

__Mycroft opened his mouth to argue, only for Greg to lean down and give him a quick kiss._ _

__Before Mycroft could quite process what had happened, Greg was walking away. He paused on the way out to speak quietly to their waiter. Mycroft slumped a bit in his seat and picked up his fork again. He supposed that as the inviting party, the meal was Greg’s responsibility._ _

__And Greg had kissed him. A peck, more or less, but as he ate he thought about the feel of Greg’s lips brushing against his own. At least that meant there would most likely be more dates in the future. He smiled at the little burst of joy he felt at that thought. Yes, he almost certainly had already fallen in love._ _

__Shaking his head, he asked the waiter to box up the rest of Greg’s meal as he quickly finished his own. He texted for his car, looking up Greg’s address to make sure it hadn’t changed. He stopped in front of the flat, hoping that the man wouldn’t mind that he let himself in. Or that he knew where he lived._ _

__It was easy enough work to get inside. Opening the door, he couldn’t help but notice how much the flat smelled like Greg. Reminding himself of the task at hand, he crossed to the kitchen and put the food into the fridge. Once that was done, Mycroft let himself have a quick glance around. The place was certainly lived in by a bachelor who didn’t spend a lot of time at home. Knowing he shouldn’t, Mycroft picked up a tie that had been left on the sofa and quickly tucked it into his pocket._ _

__Careful to leave everything else undisturbed, he went back to the car, inner omega glad for some small bit of his alphas scent. Biology. But he had to admit it was a comfort._ _

Late that night Mycroft got a text while he was in bed reading. _Thanks for the food. Sorry I had to leave. But we got the guy._

_Good. And It’s fine. Perhaps next time it will be me that has to go._

_I hope you know that I don’t mind. That your job keeps you busy and you can’t talk about much._

_Noticed I kept asking you about yours?_

_Yep ;)_

_Next date is my treat._

_Just let me know where and when and I’ll be there. Goodnight, Mycroft._

_Goodnight, Gregory._


	5. Chapter 5

An important series of meetings delayed their next date, but finally Mycroft got free of his work and was able to send off a text. _I know it’s late, but have you eaten dinner?_

Greg responded in seconds. _I always have room for dessert ;)_

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but texted back as he walked towards his waiting car. _Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?_

_I’ll be ready in five._

Smiling softly, Mycroft got into his car and ran his fingers through his hair. He probably should have gone home and made himself more presentable, no matter how much he found himself wanting to see Greg. His hand stole towards his phone, but he stopped himself. Greg wouldn’t mind, he was sure of it.

Still, he preened his feathers a bit anxiously until they arrived.

Greg was waiting outside as they pulled up. “Hi,” he said warmly as he got in.

“Good evening,” said Mycroft, noticing Greg’s hair was damp from a quick shower. 

“Nice to see you. I’m sure you can’t say a thing about any of it, and that’s fine. Just… it’s nice to see you.” Greg wove his fingers through Mycroft’s 

Mycroft’s heart fluttered. “It’s nice to see you too,” he managed. 

Greg’s wing brushed his cheek and Mycroft was seized by the urge to lean over and kiss him. He might have done so if the car hadn’t come to a stop. Damn picking a place close by Greg’s.

“Come along,” said Mycroft, leading the way out and walking a few steps to a narrow staircase. He could feel Greg’s curiosity as they climbed the steps, but then Mycroft opened the door at the top to reveal a quiet cafe, fairly busy despite the hour.

“They cater to the after-theatre crowd. Those that know they’re here,” said Mycroft quietly, leading the way to a table.

“I bet you know all sorts of out of the way places,” said Greg, sitting across from him and settling.

“I have odd hours, and I can appreciate a good tiramisu as much as the next man.”

Greg nodded. “Not much of a dinner though, is it?”

“I promise I’ll have a filling breakfast,” said Mycroft.

A young man appeared by their table. He glanced at Greg, clearly surprised, though he tried to hide it. “The usual, Mister Holmes?”

“Yes, but two forks, and a coffee for Mister Lestrade.”

“Of course, sir.” The man headed for the counter, glancing behind as if still not quite believing.

Greg chuckled. “Don’t bring many friends here, do you.”

“You’re overestimating the number of friends I have,” said Mycroft.

Greg covered his hand with his own again. “I’m glad you can count me as one. Oh, and before I forget.” Greg reached into his a pocket and passed over a key. “So you don’t have to break in next time.”

Mycroft accepted it. “It seemed better than leaving your food on the stoop.”

“I’m sure the squirrels were very disappointed.”

The young man returned with two cups of coffee and a large piece of tiramisu on a tray. Once everything was safely on the table, he deposited two forks. “Enjoy, sirs.”

“Oh we will,” said Greg, smiling at him.

The young man looked flustered, wings fluttering a bit as he turned away.

Mycroft handed over a fork. “I should bring you to my next meeting. I’m fairly certain your smile could stop wars.”

“Not quite ready to give up my day job. Though I suppose it would mean more time with you.”

Mycroft glanced down and sipped his coffee. 

Greg took a bite. “Oh, you weren’t kidding. This is great.”

Mycroft picked up his own fork. “At least they gave us a bigger piece.”

“You’ll have to take me on a tour of the best places in London to get dessert.” Greg again rest his foot against Mycroft’s.

“That could possibly be arranged.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” said Greg, pointing with his fork.

 _But would you hold me against you?_ thought Mycroft, managing not to say it aloud. He blushed anyway. What was wrong with him?

Greg picked up another forkful and offered it to him. “Thank you for asking me to join you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Mycroft accepted the bite, looking into Greg’s eyes.

“If I got tickets for a play next week, would you like to come?” asked Greg.

“I’d be delighted.”

“Good. I’ll let you know when.” 

**

They enjoyed the play the following week and they returned to the same cafe for dessert after. They had a few dinner dates after that and one Saturday afternoon they took Rosie to the park.

Rosie was delighted to spend time with her Uncles. Greg and Mycroft sat together on a park bench, keeping an eye on her and enjoying each others company. Greg’s wing around Mycroft’s shoulders, even in public like this, felt natural and right. Mycroft had to admit that he looked forward to their time together. I was as if he were moving from liferaft to liferaft, each date, each time Greg smiled at him, each laugh, bringing him closer to shore.

Mycroft shifted and leaned closed to Greg. “I hope you know how much I value our time together,” he said.

Greg turned his head and kissed him gently. “I do.”

Mycroft smiled at him, but Rosie interrupted the movement by running over to them and tugging Greg’s hand. “Swing?”

Watching them walk away, Mycroft wondered if Sherlock had taught her to interrupt. Still, he couldn't help his smile as he watched Greg get Rosie settled in the swing. Greg gently pushed and Rosie laughed, her little wings fluttering behind her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a smutty, smutty chapter. This one is def E

One evening, after another nice meal, more time spent together, Mycroft looked at Greg as they pulled up to his house. “Would you like to come in?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” said Greg.

Mycroft ignored the flutter of anxiety in his stomach as they got out and went into the house. Greg hadn’t been back to his place since that first afternoon. They’d held hands and brushed wings, but aside from kisses they hadn’t gone any further. 

Tonight could well be the night that changed.

Mycroft led him inside and into his study. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, turning towards the beverage cart.

Greg stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist, leaning in to nuzzle him. 

Mycroft tipped his head to the side to give him room. “Gregory?”

“I love you, Mycroft. Do you know that?”

Mycroft’s knees nearly buckled at the confession. He swallowed hard. “I love you too.”

“I know,” said Greg, folding his wings around them both and kissing Mycroft’s scent pad.

Mycroft was glad he hadn’t picked anything up yet because he would have dropped it. Instead, he leaned back against Greg, letting himself be cocooned. He could feel Greg’s arousal as the air thickened with desire. And not just from Greg. It seemed that many years of doing his best to ignore his wants was catching up with him.

“Too much?” asked Greg against his skin.

“More,” whispered Mycroft.

Greg nipped his shoulder. “Here? Or do you have a bedroom somewhere? You do sleep, don’t you?”

“On occasion.” Mycroft turned in Greg’s arms and kissed him soundly, sifting their wings together, thrilling at the shifting auburn, silver and brown.

Greg’s hands squeezed Mycroft arse. 

Mycroft shivered. “Bedroom, this way,” he managed, reluctantly pulling away and heading for the stairs.

Greg patiently followed him. Or perhaps it was the alpha stalking his prey. Mycroft found he liked it, to know he was the center of Greg’s gaze. 

Reaching the bedroom, Greg gathered him close and kissed him again. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” he murmured. “I wanted you even when I shouldn’t have, when I was still married, no matter how horrible she was. I’ve wanted you for years, hoping that you’d give me a chance. You can thank your brother for getting me to finally press the issue.”

“I’m not thinking about him right now,” answered Mycroft with a smile. “I’m thinking I want your hands on me. I want to feel your feathers against my skin.”

Greg groaned softly, reaching slipping the buttons free of Mycroft’s shirt. “I can have you?”

Mycroft kissed him back. “All of me is yours.”

“I’ll be gentle,” promised Greg, getting Mycroft’s shirt free and stepping him back to the bed.

Mycroft lay back, wings falling submissively. Greg climbed over him, taking off his own shirt, leaving their pants alone for the moment. “You’re beautiful,” whispered Greg, kissing him again, hands drifting over Mycroft’s pale skin.

Groaning softly, Mycroft arched into his touch. “I need you.”

Greg nodded, kissing down his jaw, his throat, his chest, lips and fingers mapping the plains and valleys of Mycroft body. For once in his life Mycroft felt at peace under the attention, legs falling open without thought.

Watching Mycroft’s face, Greg reached for his trousers. Mycroft licked his lips and nodded. “For God’s sake don’t stop now.”

Smiling, Greg stroked Mycroft cheek with his wing as he finished stripping him, leaving Mycroft bare.

Mycroft bit his lip, old insecurities threatening to rise to the surface.

“God, I’m the luckiest man on earth,” muttered Greg, kissing his hip, stroking his thigh. “You smell divine,” he murmured, leaning down to lick Mycroft’s most secret place.

Mycroft sucked in a breath, drawing up his knees. “Yesss,” he moaned. Of course he’d seen pornography. He’d abstained from sex, but he wasn’t a monk. But this? This was already far better than he’d imagined, far better than the toys he used in his heat. Intimate and sweet and he’d never wanted anything so badly as he wanted to be filled by Greg. Or truly, need, not want.

Groaning, Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s thighs to hold him in place, licking at Mycroft as if he wished to devour him. Mycroft’s hand went to Greg’s hair, gasping. Greg pushed his tongue into him and Mycroft cried out, writhing, his other hand going to his own small cock.

Greg pulled back and wiped his mouth, shoving off the last of his own clothes. He pulled a condom and lube from his pants pocket before kicking them off the bed, rolling the condom on as he licked into Mycroft’s mouth.

“Please,” Mycroft whispered, angling his hips.

Greg spilled lube over his fingers, pressing them into Mycroft. “I want you so badly,” he said, working him open.

“More,” was all Mycroft could manage, arching against him.

Greg nodded and slicked himself before carefully lining up and pressing into Mycroft. “Try and relax for me, love.”

Mycroft took a deep breath, tasting Greg and himself on the air. Greg stretched him wide, but he knew he was made for this.

“So good for me,” panted Greg, clearly trying to go slow, watching Mycroft’s body accept him.

Mycroft reached up and cupped Greg’s cheeks, drawing his gaze towards him. Mycroft looked into his warm brown eyes. “I love you.”

Greg cursed under his breath, surging forward to kiss Mycroft again, cock sliding the rest of the way in. Mycroft groaned and wrapped his legs around Greg on instinct. Greg held his slender wrists, wings pressing down on Mycroft’s, covering them both as he started to thrust.

Mycroft took a breath and surrendered, giving over the last of his control to Greg. Greg pinned Mycroft’s hands on either side of his head, shifting to kiss and nibble along his jawline and throat. Every stroke, every hint of teeth on his skin seemed to drive Mycroft higher and higher. It was all too much, but still not enough.

With another cry, Mycroft spilled between them, untouched, shivering with the force of it.

“Good omega,” murmured Greg. He pulled out and rolled Mycroft onto his stomach, stuffing a pillow under his hips before sliding into him again.

Mycroft cried out again, nearly overwhelmed as Greg held him down and took his pleasure, wings sifting together. Leaning down, Greg bit his shoulder and came hard, filling him with a loud groan.

“God, yes,” murmured Mycroft into the bedsheets.

Greg kissed his shoulder. “Please tell me I can stay the night?”

“Tonight, tomorrow, however long you wish,” said Mycroft softly, already starting to drift off as his heart rate slowed.

Greg chuckled and kissed his cheek. Mycroft grumbled as he got up, but was soothed when Greg returned with a warm cloth to clean him up. Greg stole a proper kiss as he tossed the sullied pillow to the floor. “Remind me to tip your housekeeper extra,” he said, settling into bed and cuddling Mycroft against his chest.

Mycroft nodded, not really listening, falling asleep safe in Greg’s arms and wings.


	7. Chapter 7

A few days later, Mycroft presented Greg with a key to his own home, and a passcode for the security. The night after that, Mycroft came home to find Greg had fixed dinner for them both.

“Hello, love.” Greg met him at the door, still wearing an apron that he’d conjured from God knew where.

Mycroft leaned in and kissed him. “Hello. Something smells delicious.”

“Not just me?” Greg laughed and batted his eyelashes.

“Well, you do as well.” Mycroft leaned in to scent him.

Greg gave him a playful push. “No dessert before dinner.” He turned and walked back towards the kitchen, brushing Mycroft with his wing.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and followed him into the kitchen, stowing his briefcase and removing his suit coat. “Need help with anything?”

“If you could just get the wine, everything else is done.” Greg stirred his pot and carried it towards the table.

Mycroft at least knew where the corkscrew was. He carried it and the bottle of wine to the table, finding it already set. An intimate corner of his otherwise vast table.

“Thank you,” said Mycroft sincerely. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to. I miss being able to cook for someone. Just don’t expect it every night.” Greg pulled out Mycroft’s chair for him.

“Far from it. But I’ll treasure it when you do.”

Greg smiled warmly at him and dished out the food. They made small talk, feet tangled together under the table. Mycroft marveled at how much Greg’s laughter filled up the place.

Finally, dinner finished and the dishes washed, they retreated upstairs. Greg noticed Mycroft’s slight nervousness and leaned in to kiss him. “We can just go to sleep, you know.”

“I am rather tired,” admitted Mycroft.

“We both had long days. I’m going to hop into your shower so I don’t smell like I’ve been chopping onions and then we’re going to have a good sleep.” Greg kissed Mycroft’s nose and headed for the en suite.

Mycroft couldn’t help his fond smile as he changed into his pajamas and slid under the covers, checking his phone. Greg reappeared a few minutes later, wearing just bottoms and rubbing a towel through his hair, wings spread to dry.

Biting his lip, Mycroft put his phone aside and gestured at Greg’s wings. “May I?”

“Oh yeah, of course.” Greg tossed the towel back in the direction of the en suite and sat down with his back to Mycroft. Carefully, Mycroft began preening his feathers, planting a soft kiss on Greg’s shoulder.

“Mm, you’re going to put me to sleep,” muttered Greg. “But I want to do your wings too. If not now, then in the morning.”

Mycroft couldn’t remember the last time anyone but himself had worked their fingers through his feathers. “I’d like that,” he said softly.

Greg turned, gently pulling his wings free of Mycroft's grasp, and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” answered Mycroft, running a hand through Greg’s damp hair.

Greg snuggled down into the covers and reached for Mycroft, cradling him against his chest and covering him with his wings. “Luckiest man,” he said softly, already drifting off.

“I believe that honor is mine,” said Mycroft, kissing Greg’s chest just above his heart.

**

True to his word, Greg preened Mycroft’s feathers in the morning, when they were both sleep rumpled and tired. Mycroft could think of no better way to start his day.

Greg stayed over more and more after that. Mycroft started to find himself coming home not to an empty house, but to a smile and a warm meal. Or something in the fridge and note that he’d see him soon. Greg’s scent lingered in his home.

And it was the little things too. It was seeing Greg’s toothbrush next to his own. It was a few of Greg’s mugs making their way into the cupboard. It was finding one of Greg’s feathers in his sock drawer. 

Mycroft was in the library when Greg came to him one evening with the tie Mycroft had absconded with. “I’ve been looking for this,” he said, shaking his head.

“You… must have left it here,” said Mycroft, turning a page in his book and doing his best not to blush.

Greg plucked the book from his hands and gently smacked him with his wing. “You took it,” he said, smiling.

Mycroft shrugged. “I only wanted something that smelled of you.”

Greg sat in his lap and kissed him. “Yeah, I know. I had Sherlock knick one of your handkerchiefs for me a while ago. Thankfully he didn’t ask what I wanted it for, he just delighted in swiping something from you.”

“Ah, is there where my blue and white checked one went?” Mycroft cupped his cheek. “So I’m a thief and you had someone steal for you. Not very professional of us, is it?”

“Well, I won’t tell the Yard if you won’t tell the Queen.” Greg folded his wings around them both. 

“Deal. Now, did you have some ulterior motive for removing my reading material?”

“Oh, I was just thinking of some things we could do with this tie.” Greg kissed him again. “That is, assuming you can put the book down.”

“I can be convinced.”

“Good.” Greg got off his lap and took his hand, leading him upstairs.

**

The days and weeks started blurring together. Touch was never something Mycroft had done a lot of, but it was easy with Greg, cuddling on the sofa, sleeping by his side, wings or hand brushing as they passed one another in the kitchen or the hall. He began to find it very difficult to imagine life without Gregory in it daily. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Mycroft’s heat was coming up. Of course he had no doubt that Greg would help him through it, but he wondered what Greg would say if he asked to bond.

Maybe he should have realized that Greg (with a bit of assistance from Sherlock) would ask him first.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one also has some smut at the end of it

Sherlock, John, and Rosie came over for dinner. Something about Greg and John deciding that they should have some family time together. Sherlock and Mycroft had rolled their eyes but gone along with it. Sherlock was just starting to show. Rosie was excited about having a little brother or sister.

John and Greg were in the kitchen, Rosie trying to help them, while Sherlock and Mycroft had a few moments together. “You’re happy,” said Sherlock quietly, not looking at Mycroft and straightening some already organized books.

“I am. Thank you.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I merely gave a few suggestions.”

“Still, I strongly suspect this wouldn’t have happened without you.” Mycroft gently tugged a loose feather free, preening Sherlock’s wings from habit, not that he really needed it.

Rosie giggled and ran past them, a look of glee on her face as if she’d just done something she shouldn’t have. Sherlock and Mycroft shared a look, moving to intercept her.

Sherlock caught her and picked her up. “What have you got into?” he asked gently but firmly.

“Uncle Greg’s pockets,” she admitted, her fist holding something tightly.

“What did I tell you about picking pockets and not putting things back?” asked Sherlock, holding her gaze.

Rosie’s wings drooped. “But pretty?”

“I think you better give it back, don’t you?” asked Sherlock.

Rosie bit her lip and nodded. “Sorry Mama.”

“Go give it back to Uncle Greg and apologize to him.” He set her down and Rosie headed back towards the kitchen with considerably less enthusiasm than when she had left.

“She listens better than you did,” murmured Mycroft.

Sherlock shrugged.

Before Mycroft could say anything else, Greg came out, looking worried until he spotted Rosie. “Sweetheart, did you take something out of my pocket?”

Rosie nodded and opened her hand to him, revealing a ring. Mycroft’s heart stopped at the sight. “I sorry,” muttered Rosie

“Just don’t do it again, okay? Sometimes grown-ups have things they don’t want to lose.” Greg looked up and saw the expression on Mycroft’s face. He swallowed. “Well, I suppose the cat is out of the bag now.”

Mycroft stayed rooted to the spot as Greg walked over and went to one knee. “Marry me, Mycroft?”

“God, yes,” breathed Mycroft, kneeling down eye level with Greg. 

Greg shielded them from view with his wings, kissing Mycroft as he put the ring on his finger. “Sorry, that was supposed to go with dessert.”

“I’m not complaining,” said Mycroft, cupping Greg’s cheek. “My heat is in a few days. Be my mate?”

“All part and parcel,” chuckled Greg, kissing him again.

There was a squeal as evidently Sherlock had picked up Rosie again and carted her off to give them a moment alone.

“Do you want pups?” asked Greg.

“I do,” said Mycroft.

“Me too. Just wanted to know if I needed to lay in supplies for your heat.” Greg kissed him again. “Come on, we should get off the floor, we’re both too old for this.”

Greg folded his wings back and helped Mycroft to his feet, stealing one more kiss. “Come on, you might have got dessert before dinner, but, there’s still a lot of good food to eat.”

“Mm, no, dessert is coming later tonight,” teased Mycroft.

Greg waggled his eyebrows at him and led him towards the dining room.

**

Two days later, Mycroft woke in the morning the familiar frisson of heat low in his belly.

“Mmm, good morning.” Greg rolled over and kissed him deeply.

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck. “I love you. I want your bond.”

“I love you too, and I’ll be glad to give it.” Greg nudged Mycroft’s legs apart, sliding easily into his willing body.

Mycroft moved with him, wings again lying submissively on the bed.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Greg murmured, nuzzling his throat. He nipped at Mycroft scent pad, sending a wave of slick and desire through the omega.

“Nobody else but you,” answered Mycroft, smoothing his hands down Greg’s back.

“It’ll be better if I mount you,” said Greg, reluctantly pulling back. “But I am going to take you in positions even the Kama Sutra never considered.”

Mycroft laughed and got on hands and knees. “I look forward to your creativity.”

Greg ducked his head and spread Mycroft’s cheeks, licking him.

Mycroft moaned and braced himself. “Th...that isn’t mounting.”

“No, but it’s delicious.” Greg nipped his hip and slid up. “I love the way you smell and taste and feel.” He pushed into Mycroft again. “You’re perfect.”

“Far from,” muttered Mycroft, wings fluttering a bit.

Greg pushed Mycroft’s wings down with his own and nuzzled the back of Mycroft’s neck. “Perfect to me.”

Mycroft moaned as Greg started to thrust. He covered Mycroft’s hands with his own, breathing harshly in his ear, murmuring praise that made Mycroft blush and shift under the attention. Each squirm resulted in Greg pinning him down a little more, inner alpha needing to take and claim.

“My knot is swelling,” whispered Greg. “Can you feel it? I am going to take you completely.”

Mycroft nodded, he could feel it and feel the way his body was opening for Greg. He needed to be filled as much as Greg needed to fill him.

Greg moved faster, nudging Mycroft’s head to the side. Mycroft braced himself again a moment before his knot shoved inside and his teeth clamped down. He gave a small cry, overwhelmed as pleasure spiked down his spine, barely aware that he was coming and squeezing around Greg, the world nearly whiting out with pleasure.

When Mycroft recovered from his haze of pleasure, he found he was on his side, Greg spooned around him, covering them with his wing, licking the mark he had made.

Mycroft didn’t bother to open his eyes, smiling softly. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too. Forever.”

Mycroft snuggled closer, knowing that at last, after all of life’s storms and tribulations, that he had found his safe harbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so it started 6 chapters and ended up at 8, but I didn't think anyone would mind.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This had been a fun commission to write. I think you'll enjoy and find it satisfactory.
> 
> much thanks to humshappily for reading over and the title. Thanks to Beltainefaire for the beta, and thanks to Blu Doc for reading as I go.


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